The Girl on Fire Rises
by GirlonFire17
Summary: This story takes place after the fall of the Capitol. Katniss is back in District 12 rebuilding her life from the ground up.
1. Chapter One: The Aftermath

**Chapter One: The Aftermath**

Rousing again in my haunted bedroom in District 12 takes adjusting. I have been home for nearly two months and the aftershock of all the change hasn't quite worn off. The home I'd acquired in Victor's Village was worse than the rubble that lay in place of my forgotten home in the Seam but it is the only one I have left. Our poor faithful little home in the Seam we had happily abandoned for more luxurious digs, a betrayal I still haven't forgiven myself for entirely. It may have been less than lavish but our fondest memories were within those walls. My happiest moments, singing in the early spring afternoons with my father, watching my mother and he making eyes at each other. They smiled so coyly like they had a secret but it was no secret to me. We didn't have much back then but we were happy. This upscale household acquired from so much fallen blood lodged all the more frightening moments of my young life. Our family changed forever after my first year as tribute in the Hunger Games but inexplicably more after my victory. I assumed winning the Games would make me feel something resembling freedom but the circumstances surrounding my triumph did just the opposite. The former President Snow breached my new home before the post victory tour and invaded my study. The supposed routine visit was anything but, it was the most subtly direct warning he could've given me. If I would challenge the rules and pull the biggest defiance in the history of the Games for the sake of love, Panem had better believe that love was unlike any other.

A new and inescapable sense of tragedy thickens the air though the comfort of home overrides some of its gloom. Still, there are days, walking through these halls I still see my Prim, curled up and contently snuggling that orange tyrannical cat I didn't have the good sense to drown, my mother seeing to her patients tentatively on our kitchen table, Gale triumphantly marching through the door uninvited with fresh game. If I allowed myself to feel anything for these memories that swim within me, I would never have the strength to get up day after day. I would, like Haymitch, retreat to a world of darkness where nothing and no one mattered, drinking away the remembrances with the burning taste of white liquor down my throat. There was however, the silver lining living a few yards away. Peeta. My Peeta, or so he once was. The boy with the bread I had dared to defy the Games for.

After being held captive and ruthlessly tortured by the Capitol, the driving force behind my sanity, Peeta had been reduced to wreckage. Mentally anyway. The cruelest form of torture was also the most discreet. He doesn't recall much of the tracker jacket venom entering his system, only the immediate after affects. Namely turning me, the girl who he'd once loved unreservedly and distorting me into a nemesis that wanted to his blood. Our beautiful moments had in his mind, been altered to nightmares. After being rescued from the rebels leading the cause of the Mockingjay, his condition had gone from nearly hopeless to effectively optimistic. He couldn't be trusted alone when we'd first brought him back but time has come and gone, he is virtually normal now, the occasional unprovoked jolt of fury still comes from time to time but he's done very well to resist it. He no longer stands defensive and tense at the sight of me but I often wonder if things will ever return to the way they were. The most I've noticed from him is the occasional stare, the recollections no doubt clashing in his mind, bewildering him with the question. Real or not real?

The little survivors we have are beginning to return home, even a few newcomers from other districts, trying their hand at a different life now that the Capitol has fallen. Panem is still adjusting to the dramatic shift of power under President Paylor. For the very first time, the people do not live in fear and can strive for the life they so desire. The new republic of Panem. I however have come to concern myself more with preserving and sharpening the skills in which I am already an old hand. The events of the past years have changed me but not my calling in life. I venture to the hunting spot I'd spent countless afternoons with Gale stalking through. My bow Beetee had constructed uniquely for me has become my closest ally. It is after all a token of the people that devoted their time, encouragement and in some cases, lives for the sake of the cause. Cinna's inventive eye for beauty with Beetee's technological prowess, an archer could not be more blessed. I feel the light patting of it against my back as I move; it contently sleeps and waits for my voice.

I don't mind hunting alone most of the time. It is a peaceful feeling, nothing and no one but the woods and I, the hum of nature and spring time. It was difficult to adjust to the solitude at first, stopping myself from sharing a deep thought with the spot beside me that once held Gale, the loss of which I hadn't considered to mourn. I even miss occasionally the loud trailing of Peeta that often lost me opportunity. I manage two rabbits, three squirrels and a satisfactory amount of geese before heading back to Victor's Village. I walk through town; passing by the newly fashioned Hob, scrap from the rubble being crafted into makeshift shops as the rebuilding is underway. Greasy Sae is up and running again, as well as occupying the bottom floor of my house with her granddaughter. Needless to say my supply of wild dog stew is never scant. Passing the bakery I find myself lingering. I didn't know if it is my exquisitely painful memories of my sweet little sister begging to see the flawlessly iced cookies or the one whose hands were always fashioning the icing. Whatever the case, I always become drawn. My will overtakes my want and I press on.

I come into the house to find Buttercup waddling past to a spot she'd established for herself near the couch, I get her predictable hiss for a greeting. I drop most of the game off in the kitchen for Greasy Sae to skin and prepare as she pleases, snagging a fresh cheese roll before stepping out the door to Haymitch's house with a small supply in tow. Peeta and I never bother ourselves with knocking anymore; we are the only ones that come by besides the housekeeper. I have grown accustomed to climbing in through the kitchen window half the time. Our chronically intoxicated mentor is more than likely always in the same place, looking nearly dead and slovenly from poor hygiene and massive quantities of liquor. His liver was either iron by now or no longer cared to process its damage and imminent demise. Caring for him had been like an obligation at first but our respectful but ambivalent friendship has blossomed over the years to now an artificial family tree, man-made but steadily thriving. I courteously shake his shoulder first, knowing almost immediately from the powerful stench of alcohol on his breath that he is too far gone to stir from something this slight. I come back from the kitchen with a small pail of water, knowing well what will happen after pouring it over his slouched, drunk pile of bones. As predicted, he reacts much as cat would and springs vigilantly to his feet, the knife he clutches in his sleep routinely is fiercely prepared to attack. He disarms himself once he notices me standing by with the bucket, relaxing back into his lumpy sofa in a slouch. I'm surprised he still reacts this way, we have done this countless times.

"What's goin' on there, Sweetheart?"

He mutters, reaching for the half empty bottle of clear liquid and a ripped off label. He didn't have any shame in his drinking, of course. He all but announced it but he explained that he always found himself idly picking away the scraps of paper when he couldn't find another amusing activity during his binges. I toss the cheese roll towards him, landing dangerously close to the edge of his lap. He isn't fazed as he picks it up and takes a bite, chasing it with another long pull on his bottle.

"Making sure you're still living."

I don't have a reason half the time I show up through his window. He's just my confidant when I seek company I don't feel something quite so complicated for. He has become like a corky uncle I've grown to love. Haymitch puts on a grin and I can almost hear the grazing from the stubble on his unkempt face as his lips spread.

"Alive and kicking."

He assures with no hint of enthusiasm. He often behaves like the state of any other human alive doesn't concern him but this facade is useless when it comes to Peeta and I. His actions as our mentor during the Games spoke volumes of a restored faith in a position he had never cared much for. I suspect we helped bring him back to life to some extent.

"Peeta came by earlier."

He says very matter-of-factly though I know he's initiating an important discussion.

"How is he?"

I ask. I try not to bother Haymitch about Peeta too much, I don't want him thinking I care but this façade may also be useless.

"He's remembering more. He had some questions about you. He asked me if you two usually slept in the same bed."

A strong pluck at my heart strings. The hours of blackness full of nightmares I had not yet lived and then after I had, we helped each other pass through not just with sanity, but security. His arms coiled around me when jolting awake, whatever fight I had been so fiercely waging in my dream instantly felt inconsequential against his touch.

"What did you say?"

I question, returning to the reality of things.

"I said, 'Real'."

I can't stop myself smiling at the thought. Sure it was unwisely optimistic but it wasn't just a happy memory but the question now springing the possibility of new ones to be made. New nightmares we could fight together, us two.

"He'll come back to you, Katniss."

Haymitch says, this time the reassurance in his voice is quite genuine. I've always known that deep down; he was rooting for Peeta and I. His champions that had love for each other long before victory, some to a certain degree more than others. If Haymitch the cynic believes this, I know I must believe this too.

"I hope you're right."

"Hope's for suckers."

He teases, looking at me like I'm crazy to doubt him. I go home and sleep soundly through the night for the first time in I'm not sure how long, the chance of Peeta's arms, hope alive for his return keeping the nightmares at bay. He would want this again; he would be by my side.

Always.


	2. Chapter Two: Eta & Atlas

**Chapter Two: Eta and Atlas**

I take longer than usual to stir from my bed this morning. I'm letting this peaceful feeling stay with me a while, embracing it and being a most welcoming host. Knowing full well this feeling cannot stay very long.

"He'll come back to you, Katniss."

Perhaps if it was still as it used to be, if anyone else in District 12 were my fellow tribute in the Games, it could be so easy for us. The boy with the bread had treasured me since I was the little girl with the dandelion and I had been blind to the fact. Since discovering his declarations of love he'd made for me in his pregame interviews with Caesar Flickerman were genuine, it has been a confusing mess of emotion for both of us. Struggling to understand what I felt for him. Was it compassion or truly love? Which was stronger, how different they were. Pitted to kill each other in the arena one minute, protecting each other at all cost the next, all while behaving like a couple madly in love. It didn't cross my mind for a minute that we behaved that way not just for the audience, not to stay alive or for the sponsors but because that's exactly what we were. The clever boy knew all along.

I haven't felt his kiss on my lips since that day we stormed the Capitol. In a moment of disparaging hopelessness, Peeta was near to conceding his life until I very recklessly shoved my mouth against his in a last ditch effort to motivate him. This also happened to take place only hours after he had me flat to the ground with a gun in my face. I can't blame him for this, of course. I too experienced the venom coursing through my veins, feeding me hallucinations. How could I not permit him that same anxiety under the influence of such mind-altering evil? It was a risky move that evidently worked. Was it crazy to believe somewhere inside he remembered the feeling of my lips to his? Such a simple act repeated again and again had to embed somewhere in his mind. He knew my lips, he didn't turn me away.

By the time I finally stir from my bed, my customary braid swaying down my back and dressed for my day, I hear voices billowing up the stairs like smoke. I don't delude myself thinking it's someone for me. My mother is off aiding in the establishment of health care in District Four; Gale is being a strong dissident for the cause in District Two, Johanna back to her home in District Seven. The family we had created for ourselves in District 13 is now speckled throughout Panem, reconstructing their homes, the parts of themselves that had been so badly damaged in the war. Of course I am happy for them but the ugly jealousy within me wished they had all come back to 12 with me. The only person I can fairly hold this to is my mother but even her I can't blame for eluding our home. Between my father's untimely death in the mines and Prim's slaughter in the Capitol, there is too much agony for her here. Probably too much for me but what I most want to move on with my life resides here. I would bear the painful memories for the opportunity.

I hunt in the Meadow for a while, targeting a rabbit here and there but I'm not focusing with Haymitch's words swimming around in my head. I know I'm too distracted when I extract one of my arrows from the fragile neck of a smoky gray rabbit. He's trembling beneath my hands. I have only managed to severely wound him, leaving the delicate creature dying on the foliage. I take out my knife and kindly finish him off. I stay only until the sound of the silence maddens me back to civilization.

The Hob is abuzz this afternoon with trade and new life. It's funny feeling lonely when so many new faces surround me. Perhaps it's finally time to stop being the unapproachable hunter. The unfriendly, intimidating, scarred rebel. After trading some of the game from my haul, I canvas the stands, looking for someone I've never seen before and it doesn't take long before I spot them. There are two new people at a stand, unpacking a fresh stock of seafood for display. I have never seen them before but if I had to guess, I would assume they're from District Four, where all of Panem's seafood hails from. This thought immediately brings Finnick to mind but I refuse to upset myself.

The girl is a few years older than I am, with a complexion similar to my own. She has long sandy blonde hair, naturally wavy like the tides of the ocean, eyes just the shade of Finnick's. She does have a certain resemblance to him and the longer I stare, the more of him I see. The man unpacking beside her has very similar traits, looking around the same age if not a few years older, his jaw line very strong and proud the way Finnick's was. Did Finnick have siblings that he never mentioned? I don't know if they are who they appear to be or my grief for my fallen friend is playing a cruel trick on me but curiosity will eat me alive if I don't find out.

I approach the stand with a smile that feels very unnatural. I'm not the smiley type, nothing to do with being happy or not. Smiling at times felt to me as difficult as it did when people tell Johanna she should be nicer. She isn't mean per say, just rough around the edges. Our friendship suddenly starts making a lot more sense. The girl notices me first. She gasps once she really looks at my face and processes who I am.

"Katniss!"

She exclaims excitedly. Her counterpart beside her stops himself from his task at the sound of my name.

"Katniss?"

He questions, looking me over once for some sort of confirmation. I actually consider asking if we've met before when I realize we really didn't have to. My face was on every television in Panem during the war. I was the proud and resilient Mockingjay. These people know me intimately already.

"The crab looks great."

I retort awkwardly, my attempt at conversation beginning to deflate like a withered forgotten balloon. I am not good at this. The girl exchanges a glance with her mate and back to me before smiling sadly,

"We heard you were here. You don't know us but we know you,"

I have heard this statement dozens, maybe hundreds of times over the last few years,

"Finnick was our cousin."

I can't help reacting to this fact. I suddenly want to treat them like helpless baby birds abandoned by their mother.

"I'm so sorry for your family's loss. Finnick was such a great friend to me."

He was so much more than a great friend. It is funny now thinking about on my first interactions with him. He was just the cocky heartthrob champion of District Four to me then. It is almost implausible the vital person he actually proved to be. He protected me time and time again, fully willing to put my life above the priority of his own. He offered me comfort through Peeta's capture, after his rescue and attempt to strangle me due to the madness the venom had brought him. In my dreams I see him die again and again as he did that day in the Capitol. He died with such conviction, such purpose. Words couldn't express how much I owed Finnick. It was after this thought I made the decision to help his family in any way I could. The man nods his head as if agreeing silently with me before he replies on behalf of them,

"Thank you. He gave his life for the cause and we couldn't be more proud of him."

They introduce themselves as Atlas and Eta, big brother and little sister. Most of their family, at least the survivors are back in District Four, their father and uncle slaving on the family boat. Finnick was the source of most any financial needs but since his death, the disbanding of the Hunger Games and the new Republic in place of the Capitol, his family is only receiving, as the rest of the remaining victors now are, a fraction of the winnings that had been distributed prior to the fall of the Capitol. President Paylor believes that the living victors deserved something for the hell they were made to endure but refuses to glorify it further. The funding now is more of restitution. I can't help but love that though the victors are no longer living, the republic is caring for their families. The best part it would seem is that the family is still permitted to remain in Finnick's house he'd won from the Games.

The family decided it best to plant Eta and Atlas as well as a few other cousins in different districts, making their seafood a widely distributed resource. The siblings have been in District 12 for a week and a half, they like it so far but it is an adjustment from home.

"You can use the phone in my house any time you want to check in on your family."

I offer eagerly. I can't help them with seafood gathering unless they're interested in pond guppies and I'm definitely not one for emotional support but I have a phone which is a rare thing in the districts. It is a start. They smile at me with relief in their faces.

"Finnick always talked about how nice you and Peeta were."

Atlas beams, putting an arm around his little sister's shoulder. Their closeness sends a pang of guilty aching through me as I think of Prim, my poor little duck. Nice? Me? Peeta was always nice enough for the both of us on camera and off. I didn't have much to offer along the lines of social interaction, I was there to provide information or receive it. My abilities beyond my niche have always been rather limited.

"If there's anything we can do for you,"

Eta enthuses, nodding her head towards her brother whom nods back to her in return,

"Please, let us know. Our family is so grateful to you."

Grateful to _me_? Had they no idea what their cousin had done for me? Was he too humble to mention he was my hero?

"Well, there's one thing that you could do for me."

I find myself saying,

"I haven't had many friends since coming home. It would be nice to have people to spend time with."

I know without her asking that Eta wants to know about Peeta. She along with everyone else in Panem had watched our romance blossom and become something so pure; we couldn't even bear the thought of life without being together. I know she wonders why all my time isn't consumed by the precious hours of tenderness with my lover. I am thankful she doesn't voice this curiosity. Instead, Atlas smiles at me and confesses,

"There's actually something you could do for me too. I've heard you're quite the hunter. Would you be interested in giving me a few pointers?"

I'm a little too eager when agreeing to this. Truthfully, I don't have much patience for amateurs but looking at Atlas, I have a feeling he would take to it quite naturally. Nothing like trying to teach Prim, whom usually wound up fluttering her teary eyes at me after shooting a squirrel. Atlas is built with a large frame, stood nearly six inches taller than me, his arms very masculine and well-shaped. From years of hauling fish I would imagine or perhaps from training for the Games like every other child in his district had been brought up to do.

Looking at the two of them, I can't help wondering what their special skills might be in the arena. They had their whole lives to figure it out, after all. Eta is small like me; I can imagine her being very agile, much like Rue or Foxface, leaping from tree to tree with little effort or slinking into an enemy base and stealing supplies undetected. Atlas is more than likely a brute, bashing enemies to death with his bare fists; he could probably crush my skull if he really tried. I'm not in the arena anymore and I know I'll never have to go back but I feel a sudden comfort having these two as allies.

"Anytime."

I say, letting the unnatural smile come over me again. We all agree to see more of each other around town and I leave them to their haggling. It isn't so bad, making new friends. I imagine Finnick grinning at me in approval which brings something like a smile to my face that doesn't feel as uncomfortable.

"Wow. You look...kind of happy."

I haven't heard his voice in days. Sometimes I forget how much I've missed it until it's billowing into my ears again.

"Peeta."

Peeta studies me closely for a moment, like he's never truly seen me smile before. Or he simply doesn't remember if he has. The change in my demeanor clearly has him taken aback. He looks over at the fish stand and back to me.

"Who is that?"

He asks with a hint of distain in his voice. I shoot him an odd glance before looking over the stand myself, watching Eta and Atlas negotiating with an old classmate's father over some tilapia.

"They're Finnick's cousins. They've just arrived from District Four."

Peeta knows of course his personal accounts with Finnick after being brought to District 13 and by now has heard or remembered anything prior to that and knows he was a trustworthy friend but the look he is giving the pair aches of suspicion.

"Peeta? Are you alright?"

I ask, cautiously reaching my hand out to gently place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn't shrug it off or shudder at my touch, this is serious improvement. He looks back to meet my eyes, his expression still hard.

"Were you smiling because of that guy?"

I could almost laugh at him right now. His distrust is motivated not by genuine doubt at all but something more like jealousy. I feel relief rushing over me just knowing a small part of him still feels protective of me. Maybe the old Peeta is coming back after all.

"Just a new friend of mine."

I respond, avoiding the question entirely. There is no denying Atlas is very attractive. Rugged, fit, kind with a nice smile. I can understand why Peeta would assume something but he doesn't seem to care about that anymore. He appears almost hurt at my words, offended even.

"I'm your friend."

He states very seriously, holding me in his gaze. My heart breaks a little at the sight of him, he seems bewildered I could possibly forget him. It isn't fair. Any of it. I want him to remember everything. Every kiss, every night we shared, every feeling I understood then and didn't. I could once see in a single glance from him every scrap of adoration I could ever hope for. Now what did we have? A shaky friendship at best with the roles now reserved. I look at him until I don't have the strength anymore, swallowing the sadness lumping in my throat and turn away. I hear him calling after me as I walk but I can't do it tonight. I've done my talking for the day.

I reach my home, grateful he didn't try pursuing me. The Peeta I used to know would've followed me the whole way home, persisting a discussion that made my head ache merely thinking of it. I close the door solidly behind me and lean against it, forbidding any more visitors from crossing the threshold. I didn't run but I find myself trying to catch my breath like the encounter with Peeta has literally knocked the wind out of me.

"Rough night, kid?"

If I didn't feel short of breath by that point, now is the moment the air seeps slowly from the room. I have to blink several times to be positive I'm not dreaming but I'm not. Gale sits at the head of my table, hands in front of him, fingers interlaced. Smiling at me in a way only he does.

"Surprise."


	3. Chapter Three: The Hunt, The Prey

Chapter Three

Waking today feels like more of a formality than anything else. I didn't sleep well, I hardly slept at all. Knowing Gale is downstairs; sleeping on my couch, acting like the revolution never happened sent my mind ablaze with thought all night. Like my sister's blood has never possibly been on his hands. Or might be on his hands. We will never truly know whose bombs dropped that day at the President's Manor. Who in fact is to blame for Prim's murder but Gale and I knew there would be no going back while the question still hung over our heads. He also knew I needed time away from him, to mourn, to adjust, to let all the loss I was suffering settle. He has always been one to respect my boundaries but maybe the revolution has stripped him of his good sense completely. I scurry down the stairs in a rush to meet Atlas for our first hunting lesson when I see Gale already awake and dressed, lacing up his boots.

"Heading to the woods?"

He didn't need to ask me, he knows my daily routines as well as I do. I know he wants to come along, to force things back to normal and any other situation, it would've worked but it seems I gained something from all the carnage after all.

"Yes and I don't want you there. I don't know why you thought it would be a good idea to show up here uninvited."

His face articulates distress and stops his preparing immediately.

"I just thought…"

"You just thought you could erase what happened?"

I offer him, slinging my sleeping bow onto my back. This minor setback won't stop me from my day. He nods, fastening his fingers together nervously and resting them on his lap.

"I should've asked you first but Haymitch made it sound like-"

"Haymitch?"

This catches my attention. Gale didn't come uninvited, he'd come on Haymitch's request. Gale nods again, trying to explain that Haymitch felt I really wanted to come to resolution with Gale. How I would be so much happier if my best friend were home with me for a while.

"And you believed him?"

I sneer in utter astonishment. It is true Gale isn't quite as familiar with Haymitch's techniques as Peeta and I are but he knows that Haymitch is an operator with his own intent. He would see through his plan at any means necessary. Now it is Gale who seems angry and retorts with emotion waving through his voice,

"Is it that crazy that I did? Is it really insane I thought my best friend might want me around? Might miss me even?"

I can't exactly argue with him. We have been through a lot, the two of us over the years and if the situation were reversed, I'm sure I would assume he'd miss me. Think about me often and even feel a hollow spot within him where I used to be. I am missing him and some part of me did know that but it is the peak of the mountain of discontent I am struggling with since returning home. I don't have time to explain myself before he starts packing up, jostling his things roughly into a bag.

"I'll be at Haymitch's. I'm only in town for a few days and I want to spend my time with people that might actually care."

He storms out of the house without another word. I don't know why I couldn't get anything out of myself to tell him I understand and I want him to stay. I walk through town and head to the woods with the resolution of making amends before he leaves again. He probably only came back for me and after this fight, who knows if he'll ever return.

Atlas has been waiting from the anxious look that immediately shifts to relief at the sight of me. He doesn't ask what took me only seems grateful I've turned up. I take him to one of the hollow logs that guard many of my father's bows speckled in the forest. Watching him attempt with real effort to hold a stance proves a little funny. His frame is so large that the bow appears almost like a child's toy in his arms. He attempts his shot at a squirrel and misses by a good few yards. This swing and miss continues for the next hour or so.

"I'm really much better with an axe."

He admits, clearly feeling a little embarrassed at his luck so far. I smile at him hoping he'll feel a little better about himself. I'm not one to judge, I'm sure if I were in the same position with an axe, I'd look pretty inexperienced too.

"Just keep working on your holding that arm solid."

I instruct, smacking his elbow in place as he poses in stance for me. I feel like a real coach that I never wanted to be, judging his every movement, commenting as necessary on his hold. Memories of my father doing this very thing flood me and it's hard to focus on anything else. After another few hours, he turns up no results but a graze against a rabbit's tale. I pat him on the shoulder and tell him we can try again later on in the week. We are on the way out when I hear something not far from us that sounds like bigger game. Deer, maybe even a buck and I stop Atlas in his tracks. I hold my finger to my lips to let him know to be quiet and listen, hearing the shuffling of the leaf matted ground beyond the clearing of trees to our right. I crouch and move a little ahead of him fearing his colossal feet might project too much tremor but as he follows closely behind, his steps are unpredictably light. He is sly and the size of a brute, a serious double threat and the prospect of teaching him suddenly gets a lot more exciting. When we reach the clearing, poised and ready to shoot, we find nothing but the sound of the wind dancing through the trees and the shuffling of a few light leaves on the ground. I am completely baffled. I never tend to misjudge in my tracking. I might've been distracted by Atlas' potential and missed the scurrying of frantic hooves escaping an unpleasant fate but there is no excuse for this mistake.

Atlas says thank you a few more times as we walk back and meet his sister at their stand in the Hob then he does something that takes me aback. Without asking, he wraps his arms around me and tightly embraces me, lifting me off the ground as if I weighed less than a leaf myself. People don't really just hug me anymore so the gesture is foreign and a little uncomfortable for me. I don't return the hug or let my arms leave my sides but he doesn't seem to care and smiles just as happily as he would if I did. They give me a wrapped package of salmon which is of particular value anywhere in Panem. I could try protesting but I know before I do it will be futile.

Coming back to Victor's Village I take my time walking home, reflecting for the first time how beautiful District 12 now seemed without its confining electric fences. I do sometimes miss the thrill of knowing I was breaking the rules with my hunting and gathering but nothing could take place of the exhilaration of freedom. I pause in front of my home and stare idly at the houses of my surrounding neighbors. I want to hurt Haymitch, confront him but knowing Gale is inside and would hear and see everything stops me before I can let my temper get the better of me. I don't want to go home, crawl into bed and spend half the night thinking the way had last night. Instead, I attempt something unusually optimistic. I walk over my lawn, crossing the invisible divide into the neighboring yard. It takes him a minute to come to the door and I can tell he's surprised to see me but it doesn't seem unpleasant. He looks a little out of sorts but invites me inside nonetheless.

Peeta's home, like mine appears haunted by memories of the people who were no longer there to fill the space. A thick recipe book belonging to Peeta's father, the dearly departed baker, lay on the kitchen counter at a specific page. His mother's piano still occupied the corner of the main room, the fragile ivory keys coated with a small sheet of dust. The room in which his two brothers occupied is upstairs but I didn't need to see it to know it was the same as it had been the last day they woke in their beds. I hadn't touched any of mother or Prim's things either. Somehow, letting their possessions reside in place of them was both damaging and calming.

At first we make awkward chit chat about our days but memory loss and all, Peeta knows me better than this and asks what's really bothering me. I tell him about Gale's unexpected appearance, the disagreement that it led to and the real reason behind the anger between us. He stays quiet for a minute, looking at me in a way that makes him resemble his old self and takes my hand in his. This is the second time today someone has managed to shock me with their warmth. He interlaces his fingers with mine, telling me without words he doesn't want to let go any time soon. I would never dream of stopping him. Minutes pass and fingers don't satisfy our need for closeness and it evolves to something more. We sit on the couch together closely. He grasps me delicately in his strong arms, stroking his fingers down my back, breathing his sweet earnest breath as he nuzzles into my neck, leaving my head resting on his.

I'm afraid to close my eyes. I don't want to open them again and find myself gripping the blankets on my bed, another dream of the simple desire to be close to him ruined with the harsh slap of reality.

"I missed this."

He whispers, his breath tickling my skin with warmth.

"You remember this?"

I ask, trying to disguise the astonishment in my tone. He nods softly, considering his words before saying them,

"Some of it. I do sometimes still get flashes of your face, furious, set to kill. It's not a shiny memory but I don't feel afraid by it anymore."

I have to look at him now. How had he figured out a way to beat them? To shut out the monsters in his head that so desperately wanted to ruin him? So I ask. He looks up to meet my eyes and states plainly,

"Because I know that face was real. But it was the face that wanted to protect me. Feared for me, killed for me."

I hadn't even considered this. To take a flash of a moment Peeta saw in my face, maybe when I was encountering Cato, ready and willing to fight it to the death to keep Peeta alive had been altered to make him feel like the target. The mere thought of it saddens me but the reality of it was plain. Peeta can tell I'm deep into my own thoughts and pulls me back the best way my Peeta ever knew how. His lips feel so warm after so long, I have almost forgotten how much life they pour into me. His perfect hand nestles on the back of my neck and pulls me closely into him, fusing our lips together tightly.

When I open my eyes again, thin bright streaks of sunlight are slipping in through the blinds, lining along the floor and striping us on the couch. Peeta is still asleep with his arm slung over my waist. I manage to slither out of his embrace without waking him, trying my best to collect myself and snatch my boots. I didn't want to risk waiting to lace them; he could very well stir and catch me on the way out. I'm not sure when the hours of soft kissing evolved to sleep but for the first time since his rescue, I had felt safe enough to lower my guard around Peeta. Safe enough to lay helpless, sleeping in his arms. He could've woken and killed me at any time but I was never afraid of that. Things are getting better. I slink out the front door and notice the sun is already very high in the sky. By the look of things, it's the afternoon. How in the world did we sleep in this late? I have very nearly made it over the border of the lawn when I hear,

"Well… good afternoon there, sweetheart."

I freeze mid step and curse under my breath. I pat my hair over with my hand and try my best to grin as I look up at Haymitch planted very comfortably on his porch swing. He's looking surprisingly exuberant today but a glass of unidentified liquor still sits in his hand. He's smiling very knowingly at me, like I am a teenager that snuck out of my room and this is my father gleefully awaiting my return to deliver punishment.

"Have fun last night?"

He smirks, sipping at his glass and never taking his eyes off me. I grimace at him as I struggle to hold onto my boots and jacket with one hand,

"Oh shut up, I know you're loving this."

He shrugs to one side as if to not confirm or deny it. He says back to me,

"You're welcome."

At first I don't understand how he feels responsible but almost instantly it hits me.

"This is why you invited Gale."

I say softly, almost too soft for him to hear me but he does and he replies,

"I knew you'd go running to lover boy for comfort and I knew he'd give it to you. Looks like that's not the only thing he gave to you."

His roaring laugh tells me he's drunk already, a tame sort of drunk but on the boarder of inappropriate for public earshot. Then something occurs to me that seems rather odd.

"Why are you drinking outside?"

I ask outlandishly, looking around the neighborhood for someone else to witness this. Haymitch shrugs again and takes another gulp before answering back nonchalantly,

"It's a nice day out. Thought it'd be good to get some fresh air."

I had to give it to Haymitch sometimes when he very occasionally made good decisions regarding his health. I leave him to swinging and drinking on his porch and I come into the house to find it filled with the aroma of fresh baked geese. Greasy Sae kindly left me a plate sitting on the counter, still steaming. I try my best to eat quickly to get out of the house for the Meadow. Gale will surely be there and maybe I can be the one to force some normality into us. I do a quick change of clothes and run a careful brush through my hair and reform my braid, ready to head to the woods when a knock at my door stops me. I'm hoping against hope it isn't Peeta, wanting an explanation of my disappearance, angry with me for leaving him cold and alone. It didn't occur to me until now he might've woken from a nightmare, hoping to feel my warm flesh under his skin, his comfort after such a treacherous battle with his mind and I had left him defenseless. The thought doesn't have time to burrow before I open the door and it's Eta.

I would almost always assume her visit had to do with using the phone to call her family but her face is distraught with tears and panic.

"Eta?"

I ask her urgently. Her frail arms gently grasp mine as if she can't stand on her own and I help her into the nearest seat and let her breathe a moment. She tries to speak twice but the tears keep coming and cut off her words before she's able.

"Your mother's a healer, isn't she?"

She asks, calming her sobs enough to compose a question. I nod, knowing I must look puzzled because I have no idea where she's going with this.

"Did she teach you anything?"

My mother had taught me a surprising amount as a child just as she did my sister but I never took an interest in it the way Prim had. Prim was destined for medicine; I followed in our father's footsteps as a hunter. I shrug and answer back,

"I know a bit, yeah. What's going on, Eta?"

She finally meets my eye and says words that literally hurt me,

"Atlas has been attacked."


	4. Chapter Four: The Sting

Chapter Four: The Sting

I can't exactly comprehend what is being said to me until Eta is shaking me out of shell shock.

"Are you alright?"

She almost shouts, gripping onto my shoulders and trying desperately to drag me out of the white noise I had been pulled into. I resurface to her at the sound of my name and the alarm in her voice. She's hysterical enough as it is; she needs me to be her rock now so I will do my best despite it never being my strong suit. I nod my head, getting up and right away going into my mother's room. Eta follows me without question as I rummage through the room and into mother's closet. During the war when the Capitol sent the bombs raining down on our district, Gale had just barely escaped with his family and mine still intact. Naturally no one had time to pack and most everyone's belongings were ashes in the rubble of the homes. Of course, as a message to the Mockingjay rebellion, particularly the Mockingjay herself that the Capitol deemed the cause of the war, my house as well as the others in Victor's Village remained completely unscathed for all of Panem to see. They were trying to make an example of us by destroying everyone else around us.

The intent to intimidate has finally at this moment proven to be a partial blessing as most of my mother's medical supplies lay neatly in her bag, packed up and waiting for the next emergency. I don't know what has happened to Atlas and I'm not sure what kind of injuries he's acquired so I grab the whole bag and sling it over my shoulder. I don't know Atlas very well and he isn't of particular significance to me yet but I can't help feeling rattled knowing he's wounded. Maybe it's his resemblance to his deceased cousin that I held so dear but I fear for him more than just an acquaintance would. Eta is walking beside me as we rush out of the house, trying to explain to me how she found him and how bad the situation is but she's tripping over her words. I can't hear her, my anxiety is heightening and my heart is beating in my ears. I'm not the healer in the family, I don't know this stuff the way Prim or Mother did. What if I make it worse? I assure myself with the thought of caring for Peeta in the arena when he was nearly inches from death. Knowing I had provided him with the aid that helped him reach recovery soothes my nerves and just in time.

The siblings live in town, bordering on the territory of what used to be the Seam. They occupy a modest single family home at the end of a dismal looking block. They must be paying extra for the privacy, nearly everyone in town was sharing walls with another person, another family but they have managed to isolate themselves from their new neighbors. I don't charge Greasy Sae for living in the bottom floor of my house. The situation is mutually beneficial for the both of us. Her house had been obliterated with the rest of town; she had nowhere to go, now with a small child in tow as the bombings took the girl's mother along with everything else they held dear. Considering those bombings probably would never have happened if not for me, I felt I owed them if anything and truthfully, coming back home without Gale or my mother had made the idea of living in my house again terrifying. So, feeling the presence of someone else living and breathing in my home with me, it's a small consolation of comfort.

Atlas is laying meekly on a couch that somehow looks more unsavory than the one in Haymitch's living room. His head is being propped by a small pile of clothing resting against the arm of the sofa. He has a large gash on his right brow with a heavy trail of blood proceeding down the side of his face. His lip is busted and he is clearly speckled in large bruises over his proud chest. His face took most of the beating but the more concerning matter is the blood loss as he barely appears conscious. I waste no more time and kneel down to his side, gently beckoning him to wake and look at me.

"Kat…Katn…"

He can't even say my name so I shush him with my gentle fingers and tell him he's going to be alright.

"I'm going to do what I can to fix you up."

I whisper with assurance, fishing through the bag for something to first disinfect his wounds. I find my mother's homemade solution hiding in the bottom beneath some wrapping. He flinches at the touch of my hand and almost raises a fist until he realizes again who I am and I'm trying to help. The solution stings a bit on first contact but the wincing quickly becomes soft breaths of relief as the bleeding stops almost immediately. As his color starts returning to his cheeks and we all seem to breathe a little easier, I try asking now that I'm capable of really listening,

"What happened to you?"

It hadn't until now occurred to me to wonder how someone as considerably fit as Atlas could get assaulted so relentlessly. Glancing down to his hands, his knuckles both free of blood or bruising, leading me to believe that poor Atlas didn't even get a swing in at his attacker. Atlas himself seems stifled at the question like he doesn't really know himself how this could happen. Now that the bleeding has stopped and he becomes a little more coherent, the shame is visible in his face. District Four has trained Atlas his entire life to be prepared for brutal confrontation and when the moment had finally come; he didn't so much as strike a single blow. Knowing this was important to him and his pride, Eta and I assure him that no one will hear about this. We spend the next hour inventing a story about him falling down the steps at their back door from bad footing. Atlas is asleep immediately after I've patched him up, Eta and I sit a while trying to put the piece together what might've happened as Atlas has given us nothing to go on.

"A wolf maybe?"

Eta suggests, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin against her hand. It isn't possible; I know that just looking at him. There are no scratches, no teeth marks and the damage would likely be much worse if left to a primitive creature. No, this was definitely the work of a human but the looming question remained, who would want to attack Atlas? No one really knew him yet, no one had a reason to harm him. The previous fish merchants that used to supply the district with our seafood needs had perished in the uprisings of District Four, everyone in the Hob seemed to welcome the newcomers as they weren't stepping on anyone's toes being there. It just didn't add up.

The pink orange sky we had rushed beneath has now become a peaceful dark sapphire as I pass through the quiet Hob. It seems after the sky falls dark these days, the crowds quickly disperse from town as if night would bring about more tragedy than they'd already seen and safety might only be guaranteed while the sun reigned over them. Due to this desertion, most of my walk was met only with the sound of my own footsteps and the wind at my back until I near my house and the peace is disturbed by an uproar in the air. I try to slope quietly toward the scene, instinctively letting the stealth of my hunting composure take over me as I approach the skirmish on Haymitch's front lawn. The figures appear as shadows only at first but I know the voices right away and my heart sinks at the sight of them.

Gale's strong steely hands are coiled around Peeta's neck; his face is furious, deadlier than I've seen it since the war and his tone resembles more of a growl. I can't hear him clearly, only curses and threatening sounds. Peeta appears terrified and stricken by misunderstanding as I am as he stumbles over panic to manage a single sentence.

"Gale,"

I scream as my soft steps break into a sprint to break them apart.

"Gale, stop it!"

He doesn't even look at me, doesn't care about the desperation in my voice. The insanity in his eyes belongs to someone I've never met and suddenly I fear that I might've found Atlas' attacker sooner than expected. He doesn't break the gaze he's burning into Peeta but fires back sternly,

"Katniss, you don't know what's going on here. You stay out of this."

"It doesn't look like he even knows what's going on either. Let him go, Gale."

"Katniss, look. He-"

"Gale."

Haymitch cuts in, commanding everyone's attention. He's looking sober for once which is enough to grant the full responsiveness of all of us, walking towards the confrontation. He doesn't seem as shocked as I am by the situation but he doesn't appear pleased either. Haymitch gives Gale a knowing look and states sternly,

"Let him go."

Gale takes one last glance at Peeta before reluctantly releasing him, causing Peeta to take a heavy breath and touch his neck to assure himself it's still there and intact. Haymitch I'll deal with later, we obviously have plenty to discuss. I can't describe the words I feel for Gale right now. To think I was so close to waving the white flag, to admitting I was wrong in any way to this barbaric rebel that took place of my friend. The monster born out of necessity from the hate, betrayal and bloodshed the revolution had cursed us to bear. Gale turns to me, approaches me with some urgency and places both hands on my shoulders.

"Listen to me, Katniss,"

He commands firmly,

"Stay away from him."

I don't have time to slither out of his grip before Haymitch takes him back from me.

"That's enough. Get in the house."

Haymitch steers Gale towards the front door and he goes obediently as cattle. Never have I seen Gale listen to such a demand and follow without question but I know from personal experience the influence Haymitch can be capable of. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off and I've almost forgotten that Peeta is still standing here not three feet away from me.

"Are you alright?"

I expect his arms around me two seconds after I say this but he remains coiled into himself and simply nods, looking uncomfortable even at the thought of touch.

"Say something."

I plead gently, wanting so much to reach out for him without disturbing the personal space he clearly wanted right now. He shakes his head, meeting his eyes to mine for the first time. His expression appears almost heartbreaking as he replies with fear tremoring in his voice,

"He said I would hurt you."

This suddenly feels like the craziest statement I've ever heard; as if the past attacks from the venom torture had never occurred and he was still the same Peeta that would lay anything and everything on the line for me. The crazy love-struck boy that defied not only the Capitol but the president himself for me.

"You won't. I know you won't."

I whisper, wrapping my arms around him before he can refuse me. He doesn't shut me out; he takes me in gratefully, his fingers dance through my hair as they voyage to the small of my back. He lets out a sigh of relief and holds me tightly against him,

"I don't want to. I know better now. I know what's real now. I do."

I can't tell if he's assuring himself or me but I can feel the unease coursing through him. I place my hand against his face, lean into his forehead and kiss him softly. His body falls calm instantly. We have this effect on one another. No matter the peril or hopelessness we found ourselves in during the games, every moment passed in our cave contented us enough to keep hope alive and thriving. His smile as I pull away from his lips tells me that this ability is still well intact. Part of me started to feel a sick satisfaction knowing at this moment Gale might be peering out the window, seeing if I took his advice. I kiss Peeta again with more passion, hoping this would be a clear enough response. His words held no weight. In fact in this moment, I have more faith in Peeta than I might ever have in Gale again. Game on, Hawthorne.


	5. Chapter Five: The Witness

Chapter Five: The Witness

A few days come and go and I expect Gale to flee town with a chip on his shoulder when he doesn't. Not only does he not leave when he had set out to, he seems to be settling in more if anything, walking about the Hob and interacting with all our surviving traders. I attempt with great effort not to pay attention at first but he prays on their loyalty and remembrances. A twinge of fury flickers within me at the sight of him breezing through his day, smiling politely, poaching on my business. We had been partners, the two of us and he was giving me now the most direct form of disrespect. I know this is the reaction he wants out of me and an opposition is what he ultimately desires but I can't grant him the satisfaction. So I carry on with my hunting, sneaking in my time before Gale would dream of waking, reaching some of my contacts before he has the opportunity. If he wants a fight, he would get one but not the one he bargained for. The drastic sway to my sleep schedule is a bit rough to adjust to but I thankfully haven't been going to bed alone lately.

Three nights have passed since finding Peeta and Gale in a lock of confrontation and somehow at nightfall, Peeta's arms are again cradling me as I sleep. I'm not complaining of course. Being in his arms again, I haven't slept this well in months. We have been spending more than just our nights together. When I'm not hunting or taking care of my errands, I have been spending nearly every waking moment with Peeta. From the comical attempt at teaching me how to bake cookies to long peaceful walks through the Meadow linked hand in hand. Our status as an ember rekindling to burn again is getting around town quickly. Even without him on my morning trades, I feel eyes constantly on me. The victors of District 12 were holding true in their love after these passing years of trauma and warfare. If there were still a Capitol, I'm sure we'd be all over Panem's gossipy broadcasts.

Today I come home from hunting just after dawn; I lightly place my bow and sheath on a chair beside my dresser. Peeta is lying contently slumbering, holding a pillow closely against him to replace me in my absence. I know I should get a start on my day as the early rising traders will be setting up shop around this time, I could get the head start on my old partner. My brain knows this full well but my body doesn't allow me to move anywhere but closer to this paradise burrowed in my bed. I lean over him and gently plant a kiss on his forehead, a gesture that's unusually sappy for me but this is what could define the term stolen moment. The instigator of anything involving romance has always been Peeta. He is after all the charismatic one, the hopeless romantic any girl would be ecstatic to fall in love with. I never put love as a priority in my life, if I never find it, I might not mind at all. I am still relatively young, I know this could easily change and this, whatever this is, feels very new and the feeling is not necessarily unwelcome. A smile creeps unwillingly over my lips. Damn it to hell.

I leave Peeta to rest and complete my necessary tasks, leaving my day open to me fairly early. In all the excitement of the last few days, I haven't had the chance to check in with Eta about Atlas' condition. I wait until an appropriate time to surprise them with a visit. I come bearing freshly picked apples and Eta appears a bit worn but very happy to see me as she opens the door. She invites me in right away, taking the apples with a thank you and hustling to the kitchen to start a pot of tea. She ignores completely my insistence that it's really not necessary. I had to hand it to District Four; most of their citizens I'd had the chance to encounter always had impeccable manners.

Atlas is exactly where I left him a few days prior and by the looks of him, he hasn't moved much since. Tiny specks of stubble were beginning to coat his ordinarily groomed jawline, his sweet honey hair a bit jostled and unkempt. He smiles at the sight of me and requests a hug which I surrender with reluctance.

"What is with you and people touching you?"

Atlas laughs as he forcefully squeezes me into him, a little harder than he'd probably intended. I have never been much for affection. After my father's passing, during the mourning, I had countless neighbors, family friends, coworkers of my father's try to comfort me with an embrace. As a result, this gesture lost its luster and steadily, I grew more and more tired of accepting physical comfort until I stopped accepting it altogether. This feeling of discomfort only grew worse after my first year as tribute in the games. Everyone had their strategies of survival in the arena, my strategy was trust no one and stay alive. If they were close enough to embrace me, they were close enough to finish me off. My heart sinks a little at the contradiction as my mind considers poor Rue sleeping under my arm in our tree refuge. I sit down across from him on the questionable yet cleanly matching love seat.

"You look…interesting."

I take a while to come up with the word and I still don't think I pegged it right. Atlas laughs humbly,

"Much to my sister's chagrin but if you haven't noticed by looking at the place, she's done enough. I didn't really want to add assisting big brother with grooming to the list."

I hadn't even noticed but looking around their home, though it wasn't exactly exquisite in quality, it was spotlessly clean and given a few new homey touches. Atlas moves in a little closer and whispers,

"Eta goes mentally OCD when she worries. So obviously she's worrying quite a bit."

I frown sympathetically, knowing all too well that feeling. How panic and the very strain of the unknown can drive a person insane.

"My ribs got a bit banged up, moving isn't exactly fun for me at the moment or I'd do it myself. I won't let her carry on like this. I can't condone the crazy by enabling her. I don't care if I start attracting flies."

Their relationship really is touching. They are close but still practice tough love when needed. Prim wouldn't let me move a finger, I know that. She would baby her big sister, fetch meals, brush and braid my hair, bring me Buttercup to visit even if I didn't want her to. I shake away the sadness attempting to coat me and force myself to change the subject.

I try asking Atlas if he's remembered anything of his attack now that he has had a few days to mull it over. He pouts at me and says,

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I've been trying to remember anything I could but none of it makes sense."

"So you have remembered something?"

His doubtful expression doesn't waver; he shrugs and asks cautiously,

"Do you remember when we went hunting the other day?"

I'm not exactly the one suffering with memory issues but I nod and say nothing,

"When we were pursuing that game, the one that disappeared in the clearing. Look I don't know what we heard but I don't think it fled from us."

I raise my brow at him, intrigued,

"Do you think something else scared it off?"

He visibly tenses up as he shakes his head very solidly and replies,

"I don't think it fled at all. I think it was watching us first."

The games had forced me to develop a poker face when confronted with forthcoming danger but I can't shield my reaction from Atlas. I'm frightened to some degree but most of what I feel now is confusion. Being a hunter is my biggest attribute and I like to think above all else, this would be something I should be capable of conducting flawlessly by now. In the arena, I always felt very intuitively when I was intended prey to my primitive rivals. It doesn't dawn on me until this thought comes and passes what Atlas is actually suggesting.

"You think something was hunting us?"

He gives me a look that tells me I know better than that. It's worse than that even.

"Someone."

Atlas corrects soundly. For a moment, we are locked in a stare. We both know this memory has not been misconstrued and small it might be, another piece of the puzzle that had made no sense at all is beginning to form. I am very tempted to mention Gale, to tell both Eta and Atlas about the brawl outside my house but I bite my tongue. Dropping Gale's name is essentially pointing a finger at him. Despite my anger towards him and the reek of suspicion in the situation, I can't very well place blame on my old friend unless I'm absolutely sure.

Eta rejoins us and takes a seat on the couch beside her brother. She apologizes for taking so long as she was peeling and slicing the apples I'd brought. Today is apparently a "pie kind of day". Eta fusses at Atlas, badgering him insistently to drink some tea.

"It's good for you. Mom's black tea. Sip it."

She wags her finger at him sternly. Eta turns to me with a smile just in time to miss Atlas rolling his eyes at her as he takes his first sip. She perks up and chirps happily,

"What are we talking about?"

Atlas and I exchange glances for a moment, neither of us are sure how to reply. He discreetly shakes his head and I know he wants us to figure this out ourselves. 'She's worrying quite a bit' I hear in my head. I shrug with a playful smile and laugh,

"Peeta tried to teach me how to bake cookies yesterday."

She hasn't known me for but a few weeks and knows already the appropriate reaction is to laugh at the thought.

"You? Bake?"

She snorts, gingerly sipping at her own tea. Apparently I don't give off much of a domestic vibe. Her mood transitions quickly, she smiles knowingly at me and gushes,

"I'm just so glad you two patched things up. Watching your relationship blossom during the games was so romantic. You look like you've been glowing for days."

I turn a shade of pink at the idea. How can I be 'glowing' and not be aware?

"I don't really know what we're doing."

"Well he's your boyfriend obviously."

She retorts as if it isn't even a matter for debate. I twinge at the word. I don't like labels, I hate them in fact. I've never in my life had a boyfriend and I hadn't planned on starting anytime soon.

"I wouldn't say that."

Atlas looks surprised and joins in on the conversation,

"Trouble in paradise?"

I shake my head, sighing admittedly,

"Quite the opposite. It's paradise alright. I just don't like setting a label on something that can so easily change."

He looks at me very intently as he replies,

"With the right person, it's worth the risk."

We somehow don't notice that Eta has left the conversation to tend to her domestic duties and it feels like my time to carry on as well. I stand, brushing the creases from my pants,

"Hurry up and heal already. Need to get you back out to the woods with me."

I joke, walking over and placing a hand delicately on his shoulder. I know he wants to hug me but this is the closest I come to giving one willingly. He smiles at me, runs his hand over mine and replies softly,

"It's a date."

I pick my foot up from the ground to leave when Atlas lightly grabs my wrist until I look down at him. His face is for that brief moment intensely serious and he whispers,

"Be careful, Katniss. Don't go to those woods alone."

I know I should've taken head to his warning, following it would be the practical thing to do. The desperation in his eyes begged me to listen. But I was never one for following for the rules.


End file.
